Fast Times at Whoville High
by Kelliestar
Summary: A few months after Horton saves Whoville, Jojo returns to Whoville High as a sophomore, praying for as little changes as possible. Unfortunately, he gets three. And they won't leave him alone.
1. Chapter 1: Welcome Back

Fast Times at Whoville High

Chapter 1

The loud hiss of the bus released a gray fog in the chill autumn air. The sun was high in the bluish-gray tinted sky as it hung above a buzzing school, fresh into its first day of a new school year. Dozens of cars passed by the school, leaving behind students old and new. The teenage students walked onto the campus, greeting friends and past teachers, while others entered quietly, observing their new schooling grounds. Whoville High was a large high school with hundreds of students. This year Jojo was among those returning.

The morning breeze flowed through his messy black hair. His chocolate eyes jerked back and forth to remember from the last year which part of the school was which. His long arms hung at his sides, afraid to lift them into his pockets. His gray backpack tugged at his shoulders, straightening his posture the slightest way it could. Jojo sighed. From the looks of it, he was still the shortest kid in Whoville High.

In the world Jojo McDodd lived in, a world which he just found out was a speck on a clover, his people, known as whos, were acknowledged for their greatness. All he was acknowledged for was being Mayor Ned's son. It was only recently that Jojo's secret infatuation with music was discovered, and after years of silence he spoke to his family. He thought that after he helped his father and an elephant named Horton save his town things would change for the better.

Not many were changing as well as he hoped. Ned accepted what Jojo wanted to do with his life, but he still talked on and on about the benefits of being a mayor, telling Jojo how great a mayor he would be. It was almost as if what had happened three months ago never happened. He did admit it felt good that Ned knew he didn't want to be mayor, and he was proud of him no matter what. Jojo didn't have to hide anything anymore, and he was somewhat happy.

He glanced behind himself. The bus was miles gone, abandoning him on that buckled strip of sidewalk. He didn't take it, but he could've snuck on and gone somewhere, anywhere, else if he had the chance. He let out a quiet sigh and did a mental recheck of his things.

_Lunch money, check. School supplies, check. Cell phone, check. Dignity…back at home. Crap._

He rolled his head around his shoulders and ran his white hand through his hair. It was all or nothing.

His left foot slid forward almost automatically before his right foot followed in response. His walk was slow, as if walking through a mine field, as he unplanted himself from the sidewalk. His feet barely hovered over the beige concrete ground, heels scraping at the beginning of each step. His sight focused on the school's horizon, on both the ground and what was in front of him: a crowd of kids older, younger, and the same age as him. And obviously taller. Some of the kids stared as they made their way through the crowd, whispering about him as they did. He knew they were when someone said, "That's the yopp guy." He tried to make as little eye contact as possible, hoping to avoid humiliation. That, or to keep from pissing his pants on the first day.

In the back of his head, a voice was screaming at him to turn around and head back home, to stay in the comfort of his room and mindlessly watch music video marathons on WhoH1 or listen to the soundtrack for RENT for the billionth time. For some reason though, his legs didn't comply, forcing him forward as if they had a mind of their own. The same thing happened that morning when his overly cheerful father woke him up so he could walk to school before he was late. He wanted to plop back in bed and, as one of his favorite songs said, wake up when September ended. Yet his arms flung off his bed sheets, and his legs swung to the carpet floor to get ready for the big day.

So there Jojo was, stuck in a crowd of sophomores. And now he was one of them.

"Jojo!"

He stopped breathing. His body came to an abrupt stop. He didn't have to turn around to know who had said that. Not one, not two, but fifteen girls all scampering to him excitedly. All twelve and thirteen, all from the middle school connected to his. All his sisters.

"Jojo!" they squealed again, this time tackling him.

He'd forgotten they would go to the eighth grade this year. Whoville Middle School was next to Whoville High. They both must've decided to save some money during construction because they shared a hall. The eighth graders were allowed to go into the high school hall, probably because they would be going there the next year. They were even allowed at the high school lunch area for some reason. There was a small circle for the eighth graders in the lunch area to divide them from the high schoolers. Probably to prevent something like this from happening.

Jojo stared at the concrete pressing against his nose. He blew out a sigh. "Hi, girls."

Their combined weight kept him from breathing normally. He simply lied there like a crash test dummy that had no idea something hit him. He prayed no one has seen this, that only he was aware of the pile of girls on him. Unfortunately, high schoolers weren't that ignorant. A clique of the school's popular kids, most either dressed like gangster rappers, call girls or Whonnah Montana, had seen the whole performance, and snickered at the who's expense. He moaned and rolled his forehead on the ground in humiliation.

"Girls, do you remember what I told you yesterday?"

Their silence was enough of an answer. He slowly slipped out of the pile and stood up to talk. "Listen, middle school and high school are totally different from each other. You can't follow me around like you do at home. If the kids here saw you hugging me everywhere, I'll get a bad reputation. If they make fun of me, they'll make fun of you for being related to me. You know I don't want that for you, so you have to stop this. You can tackle me all you want at home, but not here. Understand?"

The fifteen heads nodded. Obviously they didn't.

Despite this Jojo said, "All right, now go back to the other school before you're all late."

The crowd of girls scurried away and out of the high school campus. Half of what he said was a lie. He did care about how his sisters were treated, but everything about himself was completely false. His reputation was destroyed the minute he was born. The minute he refused to be the next mayor. The minute he silenced himself in fear of rejection. His reputation was slaughtered, shredded and mangled until there was one word left to describe him.

His reputation was emo.

Jojo turned away from the path his sisters went, and came face to face with the snickering popular clique. They weren't afraid to laugh in his face either, as if their high social rank made them impervious to glares such as his.

He rolled his eyes under his black bangs. "Perfect." He turned the opposite direction and walked an alternate route to the school administration building, where a class schedule with his name on it awaited him.


	2. Chapter 2: Born Troublemaker

Chapter 2

All he asked for was a simple music appreciation class. That's all he asked for, and instead he got…

"Keyboarding!" the elderly teacher bellowed, reading aloud the word on the chalkboard. The teacher was tall and orange, scary thin with a long gray moustache hanging from his lip. The skin on his cheeks hung like jowls, and he seemed to glare at every student, especially at Jojo for some reason. His voice was deep and he spoke with an Irish accent. "This may seem, to your feeble minds, like a simple skill you could learn and forget as you grow into your adulthood. A useless thing, you might say, something that will never affect your life. But 'tis not!"

The last three words he shouted, causing most of the students in the computer room to jump.

"Keyboarding is a way of life," he continued. "You will not, I repeat not, get into any high colleges without keyboarding, not that I expect any of you to. Keyboarding will define how you achieve. 'Tis not a laughing matter, 'tis not! I can tell what will happen to you. For rest of your lives you will be stuck in cubicles, day and night, no chance of going home, and all you will have, all that will be worth meaning, is keyboarding!"

Throughout this monologue, Jojo had to wonder if he was in a keyboarding class or the board of education's production of Hamlet.

He noticed most of the kids in this class didn't look like they wanted to be in it. They all wore dull faces, leaning against their chairs and computer desks. Their arms hung dead and all they yearned for in that class was for the bell to ring. Sadly it would not again for another hour.

The teacher wrote his name on the board. "I am Mr. Molitoris. I am known as the king, sheriff, and executioner of this classroom. This class will not be easy, this class will not be fun, but follow my rules and perhaps, this class will be bearable."

Son of a mother.

"I only have five rules, but don't be expecting me to, as you say, cut you some slack. Nay slack shall be cut in this class." He cleared his throat noisily. "Rule number one, absolutely no tardies. I don't care if your grandmother is dying and you need to take her to the hospital, or even if you have that purple slip of paper excusing yourself, a tardy's a tardy. Anyone late to this class will receive an automatic detention. Rule number two, if you need to go to the bathroom, I will decide if and when you will go. I will allow you two minutes to go and no more. Anyone gone for over two minutes will receive an automatic detention. Rule number three, this class is reserved solely for keyboarding assignments. This is no place to do your English or your who-rithmitic work. Anyone caught doing so will receive and automatic detention. Rule number four, there will be no communication at all under my watch. That means no talking, whispering, passing notes, facial expressions, nothing. Anyone found doing communication of any sort will receive an automatic detention. Finally, rule number five, absolutely no internet."

This rule earned quite a few groans.

"Be quiet!" Mr. Molitoris barked. "There's no need to be IMing your friends or checking your WhoSpace or any garbage like that. Anyone found on the internet will receive an automatic detention. Am I clear?"

The class was silent.

"Am I clear?" he repeated.

"Yes," came the class's dull reply.

"Good."

His glare suddenly returned to Jojo. He frowned at him deeply. Jojo grew nervous. He had been behaving the whole lecture. He was listening to his every word. What had he done already?

"Young man, take off that ridiculous hat!"

Jojo turned his head to the right. Mr. Molitoris wasn't glaring at him. Next to Jojo sat a blond who with a peach face and brown body. His hair was almost as long as Jojo's, but it was cut differently and was a bit shaggy. The top of his head was covered with a red beanie, the "ridiculous hat" Mr. Molitoris must have been referring to.

The cross-armed who merely looked ahead and said, "Pardon?"

"Take that sock off your head," Mr. Molitoris repeated, "before I confiscate it."

"I'm afraid I don't have to do that, sir," the who said.

The entire class turned to him in awe. Jojo felt afraid to be next to him. Mr. Molitoris' eyes grew.

"And why would that be?"

"Because, you only have five rules. Rules which cover tardiness, bathroom privileges, work not associated with the class, communication and internet use." The who slipped his index finger under the beanie and stretched it as he sang, "But they didn't cover hats!"

The class chuckled at him. Even Jojo smiled a little.

"Come up here," Mr. Molitoris ordered.

The who stood up. Jojo could tell he could maybe reach his cheek in height. The who walked over nonchalantly, an unidentifiable swagger in his walk. He looked up at Mr. Molitoris coolly when he met him.

Mr. Molitoris cocked a brow at him. "David Barnes, I presume?"

The who nodded. "Yessir."

Mr. Molitoris was visibly annoyed. He turned David Barnes around so he could face the class. He still had a smile as Mr. Molitoris said, "This is exactly what I will not tolerate in this class. Look at his features. Foolish smile. Menacing eyes. Hippie hair. All the signs of a born troublemaker." He narrowed his words to only David Barnes. "I suppose I'll be seeing you in detention many times this year."

He pushed David Barnes to go back to his seat. The smile was still there as he sat back next to an uncomfortable Jojo.

"I'll be watching your mop-headed friend too."

Oh crap.

Jojo sank in his seat, wanting badly to disappear from this classroom. He could tell David Barnes was looking at him for some reason. He was probably thinking of pulling something on him. A few other kids watched his embarrassment unfold the second he was called out. The whispers started again. Why did he have to sit next to the class clown?

Mr. Molitoris sat back at his desk. "Now it does not matter to me that it is the first day of school. For the rest of this hour, I will be watching all of you like a hawk for any rowdy behavior, so don't act up."

*****

Fifteen minutes later Mr. Molitoris was asleep.

Of course the class took this opportunity to talk to each other. Girls were talking about gossip and guys were talking about the new gross-out comedy that recently came out. The beeps of thumbs texting created a symphony suitable for a video game. All the class was busy but for Jojo, sitting mutely in his chair staring at his knees. He felt a finger tap his shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay?" It was David Barnes.

Jojo tried to ignore him.

"Dude?"

No reply.

Jojo heard him sigh. "If this is about what Mr. Molitoris said, don't believe him. I've known a few guys who came to this class. He's a big bluff, he says all these threats and everybody gets away with what they do. So you can like pretty much do anything in this class and not get in trouble. You get what I'm saying, right?"

Jojo said nothing.

He heard him make a "tsst" sound through his teeth. "Look, I get this kind of thing a lot. People don't like to hang with because they think I'm a jerk for messing with them. I'm not that kind of guy, I promise. I like to have some fun is all."

Jojo kept his head down, but he was listening.

"You're a shy guy, huh? I could tell by the way you were sitting when I came in. You're not mad or anything, are you?"

Jojo answered by shaking his head.

"Yeah, I can't tell, with you being all quiet. No one here really talks to me, so I think that if someone won't look or talk to me they're holding something against me."

Hearing this, Jojo looked up at him. He still had that jester smile of his. His jester attitude wasn't gone either.

"Funny thing, you don't talk, and you have black and gray stripes and a white face. Are you like a mime? I swear, all you need is a beret and black suspenders and you'd be all 'I'm going to France!'"

Jojo grinned at his joke.

"Hey, that's what I wanted to see!" He nudged Jojo with his elbow. "Oh, by the way, I'm David."

Jojo gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

"Wow, you'd make a great mime." David rested his elbow on the back of his chair. "You know what? I like you. You're cool."

Jojo's smile widened. For a guy that got him in trouble, David wasn't so bad. Maybe this year he might survive high school.

"We should hang out some more."

Seuss, strike him now.


End file.
